Festivities
The streets of Chaliliegrad were flooded with Beavers, it was the first day of a weeklong festival celebrating the victory over the forces of the nether some 500 years previous. The festival has mutated since its origin, it is now mainly an excuse for many Beavers to eat, drink and dance in the streets of the city. And eat, drink and dance they did. Cider had been carted up from Linmarsh, meats and cakes had been brought from the eastern farmlands and the air was filled with the finest (although slightly out of tune) Grondorian music. Artemyev forced his way through the crowd, he was late, and the council didn’t take kindly to tardiness. A beaver of no real visual importance, average in build, height and colour. What made him stand out from the crowd was how he dressed, as a Chamberlord he wore the traditional red coat, decorated with silver and black trim. Around his neck suspended by a thick silver chain was the crest of Ebia, a tall ship with the background of a squid. He pushed past a rather drunken Beaver and approached the steps of the capital building. Many floors above the street festivities the council room was quiet save for the crunching of some crisp bread being eaten by Grand Lord Golovkin, he sat at the head of the table wearing a rich green coat with the seal of Chaliliegrad cast in gold hanging from a golden chain around his neck. Four other Beavers sat at the dark oval table; each suitably dressed to show their importance in the realm. One in pristine white robes, the symbol of the Blue Oyster hung from his neck. Two Beavers in military dress uniform, one in the purple of the Navy and the other wearing the Black coat of a high ranking Beaver Army officer. Lady Bertrude had made an appearance at this meeting, a rare occurrence of late, it was rumoured she had grown too fat to travel, middling in her years the Beaver sat twice as wide as the norm. The Tsar’s Chair sat empty along with the chairs belonging to the Chamberlords of Osius, Northhollow and Linmarsh. The silence of the room was broken when the heavy wooden door slowly swung open. Artemyev’s attempt to enter unnoticed had failed, the five councilmembers turned towards him. “Nice of you to join us Art” exclaimed Golovkin as he waved his last piece of crisp bread around in front of him. “We have been discussing matters of great importance to the realm.” High Bishop Yolkov whipped the crumbs from his papers. “Please join us so we can finally get started.” As Artemyev sat down in his seat and started to catch his breath Grand Admiral Yshutim handed him a cup of water. The muffled cheers from the street below could be heard through the open window. “What news from Seranti Art?” Golovkin asked “The other nations have become more active on the waters recently, a Beardonian vessel docked at the port this past week, it would seem then are attempting to rebuild more actively now.” “Interesting, and the Badgers?” “The usual trading vessel on a semi frequent basis, fewer warships have been spotted lately.” “Curious” interjected the Admiral “The Badgers are certainly up to something. Our spies have told of their forces moving in peculiar patterns, large movements away from the borders.” “The Goblins have been very quiet lately too, this must have given the Badgerian military the chance to withdraw in part from that warzone.” Added Lord Commander Myatlev. “The reappearance of the Beardonians does coincide with reports from Partway Island; they have been spotted recently moving on the north-western landmass of the sea.” Golovkin brushed some crumbs off of his chest and straightened up in his chair. “Yes the Bears have sent emissaries in the past few days, something about the rebirth of their nation and the want for a continued peace.” Yshutim considered this information “If they stay out of our way in the west, I see no reason to reignite any hostility with Beechams and his people.” Lady Bertrude shifted her massive weight in her chair. “But what about the Badgers, other than the garrison at Eastwatch, Orchhollow is the first line of defence, could they be preparing for some kind of invasion?” “We can never tell with those people, I have received message that they wish to reopen diplomatic channels with us.” Golovkin replied “but you can never trust the Badgers to have good intentions for anyone but themselves.” “We do still have the Goblin barrier for any land assault they may attempt; even if the Goblins have been quiet they will not let Badgers freely cross their lands.” Myatlev offered “we’ll keep an eye open in the east but we should hear what their envoys have to say.” The Beavers murmured in agreement, and then fell curiously silent. High Bishop Yolkov was the one to break this silence. “A group of pilgrims have returned from the south, though not as they left. They saw something down there.” “A large group of armed Beavers passed through my town, was this them?” asked Bertrude. “Yes, they are calling themselves the Imaginos, our texts do not speak against the carrying of weapons but this is strange for devout men and women to take up arms in an organised group.” Yolkov answered. Golovkin bent forward resting his arms on the table “are they a danger?” “I do not believe so.” Replied the Bishop. “I will meet with the leader this coming week to attempt to ascertain their intent and reasoning for taking up arms.” “Armed religious zealots roaming the towns of Grondor are not what we need during this time of unease bishop, have you lost control of your flock?” Myatlev asked. “As I said Lord Commander something in the south changed these people. It should have been a normal pilgrimage to the altars of The Great Sun Jester. But they returned with weapons." Yolkov scratched his chin. "I do not know where they would get these weapons from, there’s little down there anymore, at least to my knowledge.” “The Southlands haven’t been used for centuries, before this city was built even. I’ll talk to my advisors and we shall send an expeditionary force south to investigate the source of these weapons.” Golovkin stood up and pushed his chair under the table. “Well I believe that’s everything, I have a meeting with the Tsar I must get to.” He walked towards the door and grasped the brass handle with the hand. “Happy Victory Day to you all.” Artemyev was the last to leave the council room. He had travelled all the way from Ebia for this ludicrously short meeting, he thought to himself about the long journey home by carriage it would take half a day at least to make it out of the city. He passed the guards in the marble foyer of the capital building and descended the steps and was again surrounded by the drunken revellers in the city’s streets.